


Take the Shot

by SlimReaper



Series: Fics by iopele [6]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Drinking Games, First Dates, Fluff and Humor, For Science!, Kind of accidentally, M/M, Other, These two are far too smart to be this dumb, iopele, nerds being nerds, simpatico
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-17
Updated: 2016-06-17
Packaged: 2018-07-15 14:05:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7225378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SlimReaper/pseuds/SlimReaper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Physics: the study of matter, energy, and the interactions between them.<br/>Today's subjects: Brainstorm, master of unsubtle hints, and Perceptor, master of complete and utter obliviousness.<br/>Begin experiment.<br/>Agitate gently.<br/>Add engex.<br/>Observe and document results.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Take the Shot

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is for the wonderful apocalypse-on-legs!

Perceptor would be the first to admit that he was not good with other mecha.

Science was his forte, the comforting realm where numbers always added up, where the application of known principles resulted in reassuringly predictable outcomes. Even his missions as a sniper were a science--a complex calculation of wind speed, humidity, the vector of his target, shot velocity and angle, factoring in distance and the known parameters of his weapon… it was _science_ , a practical experiment carried out to achieve a predictable, if brutal, result.

The same was emphatically not true of his dealings with other mecha. Apply the same stimulus using the same method to the same subject ten times, and that subject was likely to respond in ten different ways.

Mecha responded to variables that Perceptor was incapable of controlling, and for which he could not adequately adjust. Emotions obeyed no consistent laws that he was able to decipher, and responded to no logic that he had discovered. There was a science to interpersonal interactions, but it was not _his_ kind of science, and he was no Rung to decipher such mysteries.

Other mecha were… frustrating.

_Messy._

And none were more so than Brainstorm.

Brainstorm was a walking contradiction. It wasn’t like a scientist to be so... wild. Reckless. He took risks in the lab and outside it, created weapons of unbelievable destruction and yet could not bring himself to take a life personally. He became distracted by impossible flights of fancy, and then he somehow made them _work_. He easily made friends among the crew, was always heard laughing with them in Swerve’s, and yet he always went back to his hab alone. He insisted that he and Perceptor were _simpatico_ when they couldn’t possibly be more different. He was… he was so…

… _Brainstorm_.

Still, despite the other scientist’s unpredictability, Perceptor was glad that he’d invited Brainstorm to accompany him when he had discovered that a physics symposium was being held on the planet where the _Lost Light_ had stopped for supplies.

In fact, he had to admit that without Brainstorm, this day would’ve been almost intolerable. The scientists hosting the symposium were pompous, long-winded _idiots._ Their conclusions were simplistic when they weren’t outright incorrect, and their outrage when Perceptor had dared to rise and point out a small but significant mathematical error had been impressive to behold. They’d actually shouted him down-- _him!_ \--and as he’d sunk back into his seat, stunned, he’d seen Brainstorm tensing to leap out of his own seat in Perceptor’s defense.

He’d put a hand on the flier’s shoulder and prevented him from doing so, but the thought had been sweet all the same.

After that explosion, he and Brainstorm had remained in their seats at the back of the auditorium. Perceptor was too polite to leave, but there was no point in sharing more of their expertise with those too proud to benefit from their assistance. Perceptor sat silently, fuming, until Brainstorm had unexpectedly leaned over and whispered, “New drinking game for after--one sip for every math error?”

Perceptor surprised himself by snorting a laugh. It earned him a filthy look from the presenter, but he truly could not care less about that mech’s opinion of him, so he whispered back, “We would be drunk as Wreckers in minutes.”

Brainstorm’s field unfurled a bit, just enough to let Perceptor feel his wicked amusement. “Well, you would know all about _that,_ wouldn’t you.” And Perceptor, who had rarely indulged in engex during his time with the Wreckers-- _someone_ needed to keep a clear head and watch out for attacks, after all, and the memory dumps were disorienting--found himself grinning back rather than correcting him.

Their drinking game grew as the symposium progressed. Soon it had expanded from _one sip per mathematical error_ to include things like _one shot for every incorrectly applied equation,_ and _two sips per fallacious conclusion arising from assumptions,_ and _each misuse of the word_ quantum _: finish your drink_ . Perceptor found himself mimicking Brainstorm’s casual posture, slumping down in his seat to better conceal his amusement. By the time Brainstorm suggested _drink until Ratchet has to purge your tanks for each instance of overwhelming stupidity poorly hidden in pedantic academic language,_ Perceptor had to slap a hand over his mouth to keep from laughing out loud.

He didn’t accomplish it quickly enough, it seemed, because the new presenter shot him an exasperated glance. He sank a little further and waited until they continued their presentation before murmuring to Brainstorm, “It’s not fair that I keep getting all the glares merely because _your_ face is hidden. Do you ever take that faceplate off?”

Brainstorm’s field fluttered against his, the EM equivalent of waggling his eyebrows. “Only when offered the proper motivation,” he purred, and Perceptor had to bite his glossa to keep from laughing at the over-the-top flirtatiousness. Now that he had adjusted to the mech’s flirty manner and realized that he didn’t mean any of it, Perceptor found it amusing.

A midday break was called at the end of the presentation, much to their relief. Perceptor stood and propped his hands on his hips, arching to stretch his aching backstruts--posture was important to a frame’s optimal function, and he rarely sat in such a position. When he dropped his hands with a satisfied sigh, he found Brainstorm staring.

 _Really_ staring.

Perceptor opened his mouth to speak--never mind that he had no idea what he planned to say--but Brainstorm beat him to it. “How about we get out of here? There has to be something more fun to do on this rock than listen to these idiots drone on.” His wings waved gently, a flier’s smile. “Besides, we’ve got a lot of drinks to catch up on.”

And Perceptor found himself smiling back. “We’ve certainly earned them after enduring this,” he agreed, and ignored the offended _hrumph_ of the main presenter who apparently couldn’t comprehend basic trigonometry. “You locate the bar, and I will purchase the engex.”

He wasn’t sure exactly how many rounds they’d had since then, but they’d lingered over their corner table long enough that night had long since fallen by the time they returned to the _Lost Light._ In fact, although his tab had indicated that a rather sizeable amount of engex had crossed their table, Perceptor felt only pleasantly buzzed as they exited the lift on the deck that held both their habs.

Besides, it had been well worth the cost to watch Brainstorm’s face as he laughed and talked over the drinks, to actually see his expression instead of reading his wing language.

Perceptor was the one laughing now as he walked down the corridor beside Brainstorm, relishing the other scientist’s spot-on perfect impression of the most pompous of the morning’s presenters. His faceplate was still tucked into his subspace, allowing Perceptor to fully appreciate the imitation, complete with disapproving scowl and flared nostrils.

He found that he was reluctant to stop beside Brainstorm’s door. “You truly do have a gift for impressions,” he said, obeying the urge to try to draw out this unexpectedly entertaining day just a little bit longer.

Brainstorm grinned at him and leaned against his doorframe, clearly in no more rush to put an end to the day than Perceptor. “I’ve been telling you all along that I am a _very_ gifted mech,” he agreed with a solemnity belied by his laughing optics. “If you think I’m good with physics, you should try me with _chemistry_ ,” he added with a leering wink, and Perceptor couldn’t help chuckling again. Brainstorm’s optics lit with pleasure at his reaction and he leaned a little closer. “Thank you for asking me out today, Percy. I had a great time.”

Perceptor smiled and was already starting to reply when those words truly registered.

 _Oh Primus, he thought I invited him to the symposium as a_ date _?!_

He was halfway through the mental gear-shift to change his next sentence from polite words of goodnight to a correction of his intentions, but just then his processor kicked in with an unexpected memory dump--not unusual for him under the influence of engex.

_Brainstorm’s instant willingness to jump to his defense when he had been shouted down, ready to share the public scorn without hesitation_

_Brainstorm easing the sting of embarrassment with his silly drinking game suggestions, and using the excuse of that game to pick apart their research, even finding some errors that Perceptor had missed_

_Brainstorm teasing that he only removed his faceplate when offered the right incentive_

_Brainstorm’s field warm and companionable against his as he relaxed beside him at the bar and that faceplate came off to reveal a smile so handsome that it seemed almost criminal to hide it_

_Brainstorm making him laugh, making him relax, making him enjoy this day more than any date he’d had in recent memory_

Not such a random memory dump, after all, and Perceptor sent that planned statement of correction to a deletion queue right away. After all, he was a scientist, and he would be a fool to argue against such clear data.

His hesitation only lasted a fraction of a second, hardly enough time to be noticeable to most mecha, but Brainstorm was not most mecha. His easy smile faded as he began to straighten, clearly recognizing that he’d made an error, and Perceptor’s processor switched direction for the third time with hardly a pause.

_… adjust angle… factor in height differential… lock on target…_

Whatever Brainstorm had been about to say died with a squeak against Perceptor’s lips.

After all, Perceptor was also a Wrecker, and a sniper knew to take a perfect shot when he saw it.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on tumblr as iopele. [Check out my tumblr page here!](http://iopele.tumblr.com/commissions)


End file.
